


Sentimental Value

by MnemonicMadness



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Building TM Era, Canon Era, Declarations Of Love, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Harold & Nathan Friendship, Implied First Time, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, MIT Era, More Fluff, Morning After, Morning Cuddles, Romance, Sort of at least, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:52:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnemonicMadness/pseuds/MnemonicMadness
Summary: “You remembered my birthday at the last minute yesterday and panicked, didn't you?”Inspired by seeingthis.





	Sentimental Value

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Michaelssw0rd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Tee you beautiful human being ♥♥♥ I hope you'll have a lovely day and that maybe, this'll contribute a bit to that goal!

Practically buried in his pile of textbooks, all his focus on absorbing the new information they offered to him, Harold had failed to notice the ticking of his clock and the passage of time, was oblivious to the birdsong and the first, tentative rays of the sun starting to illuminate their dorm room. For hours upon hours, he had only moved to turn the pages or crane his neck to work out a crick.

It was only when a mug was placed on his desk right next to the book he was currently studying with a rather forceful clank that he startled and looked up.

Nathan, still in his pyjamas and with an impressive bed-head, levelled him with a look of amused disbelief.

“Jesus, Harold. Have you been sitting here all night?”

Harold only had the presence of mind left to adjust his askew glasses, knowing his sheepishness was probably showing in his expression plain as day. That suspicion was confirmed when his roommate slash best friend only chuckled and shook his head in mock-exasperation.

He cleared his throat, only now noticing how thirsty he was. The tea Nathan had brought him was too sweet and hot enough to burn his tongue, but it helped with the dryness of his throat.

“What time is it?”

“Almost 7a.m.”

He found himself frowning slightly with the niggling feeling that something was out of the ordinary, before realising what and his frown lifted, giving way for a small, teasing grin. “How come you’re awake already? Do correct me if I’m mistaken, but I think I remember you complaining about it being, and I quote, _frankly inhumane to have to get up at such an ungodly hour_ on multiple occasions, even if said hour is in fact one later than the current one?”

Nathan sighed. “It _is_ inhumane to be awake now and this _is_ an ungodly hour, but for once I was trying to get up first so I could...” He paused and narrowed his eyes at Harold - who squirmed a bit under that look - before chuckling again. “You don’t even know what day it is, do you?”

Confusion furrowed his brows. “It’s Saturday, isn’t it?” Yet he couldn’t help but feel like he had forgotten something. Something important, something he really ought to remember.

His friend was no help, only shaking his head at him again, exasperation slightly more sincere this time. “Okay, wait... just keep sitting there. Don’t move!”

Bemused, he watched Nathan hurry over to their dorm’s small kitchenette and open the fridge before instantly closing it again and whirling back around to face him. “Turn around!”

Harold raised his eyebrow and didn’t move. Nathan stared at him expectantly. After nearly a minute of silence and the conclusion that his friend probably wouldn’t budge on this, he rolled his eyes and turned around.

Now behind him, he heard the door of the fridge open and close again, followed by the sound of several drawers being opened and their contents being rummaged around in, accompanied by Nathan’s soft cursing and a bit later the rustling of paper. With every second the temptation to turn around grew, but just before his curiosity overwhelmed him, footsteps neared.

To his surprise, a ridiculously overdecorated cupcake with a single burning candle in it appeared in front of him, along with a badly wrapped gift. He stared for a second, then lifted his head to look at his best friend questioningly.

In that moment, Nathan broke out into a truly awful rendition of _Happy Birthday_ and Harold wanted to groan and bang his head against the desk, both from the singing and from the realisation of just what he had forgotten. Granted, Harold Wren’s birthday was on a different date than his real one and therefore more easily forgotten, but nonetheless, this was indeed something he should have remembered. How sloppy.

Mercifully, Nathan only sang the single verse of the song’s standard version, though he had to admit that despite his friend’s singing voice leaving something to be desired, he was quite touched by the gesture. By far not for the first time, warmth and gratitude for having ended up sharing his room with Nathan welled up in him. Documents were easily forged, to arrange for Harold Wren’s full MIT scholarship had been a downright child’s play compared to erasing every trace of his original identity, but human interaction had always been as obscure to him as understanding of mechanics had been easy. In fact, amongst other, more rational concerns, one of his greatest fears since he had begun his life on the run had been that of social isolation.

But then he had met Nathan when he had walked into their dorm room for the first time, feeling small and lost, with his few belongings all fitting into a single backpack. Nathan had taken one look at him and - for reasons Harold couldn’t quite fathom but was eternally grateful for - had decided to take him under his wing.

“Make a wish!” his best friend urged him and he obligingly blew out the candle with an indulgent smile, waiting for the wisp of smoke to dissipate before reaching for the present.

Underneath the crinkled wrapping paper it was soft, faded red showing where the paper was ripped in a few places, but Harold still took his time, carefully removing the scotch tape piece by piece, hiding his smirk at Nathan’s increasing impatience with the tilt of his head. When he finally folded the thin wrapping away, a folded T-shirt was revealed, reading ' _Come to the nerd side, we have_ _ _π__ ' in an uneven, obviously handmade font. For good measure, small white dots were painted all over it in an attempted imitation of space.

Harold had to laugh as he unfolded it and was utterly unsurprised to find it several sizes larger than the one he needed – if worn, it would hang from his narrow frame like a nightgown or a wet sack. However, by visual estimate, it seemed like it would fit his roommate quite adequately. He grinned.

“You remembered my birthday at the last minute yesterday and panicked, didn't you?”

It was Nathan's turn to show a lack of capacity in hiding his sheepishness. “Well, if I hadn't reminded you, you wouldn't have remembered it at all, so, hey pot, I'm kettle...”

Once his friend had trailed off, Harold let him squirm for another moment while taking a generous bite out of the rather delicious cupcake before gentling his smirk into a smile.

“I suppose I can always wear it while running. Thank you, Nathan.”

* * *

 

Harold frowned at the most recent edits he had made to his most ambitious project's code. The headache that had begun to form behind his temples hours had grown into an almost nauseating throbbing, disrupting his last semblance of concentration with every heartbeat. He had long lost any sense of time, absorbed in the latest in a series of increasingly complex problems as he had been, and exhausted to a point where he knew any further attempts at a solution today were doomed to be an exercise in futility.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he shut the monitors off and closed his burning eyes for a moment, only to find lines of code running across the inside of his eyelids, his mind still working in overdrive. He was well aware that he was in urgent need of rest, just as he was aware that trying to get that rest with the current state of his mind would be as destined to fail as an immediate continuation of his work. He eyed the treadmill in consideration.

No, after having spent however long it might have been here, his usually cherished workspace was starting to feel suffocating to him. Just as well, some fresh air would do a much better job of alleviating his headache anyway.

With a small groan of discomfort, he got to his feet, grabbed the bag containing his sportswear and entered the small, en-suite bathroom. The motions of getting changed were performed through muscle memory while his restless mind still churned over various new approaches to the problem. A few minutes later, he was pulled out of his thoughts by the click of the door, followed by the sound of Nathan's footsteps, fine Italian leather on bare concrete.

“Harold?”

“In here. I thought a run might help me clear my head, would you care to join me?”

“Sure. Olivia keeps telling me I should get more exercise anyway.” There was a brief pause, filled with the shuffling of Nathan rummaging for his own running attire. “How's the Machine doing?”

“I am still having trouble with the ethics protocol. The categorical imperative might be a nice sentiment in principle, but it is simply not anywhere near applicable to reality. Of course working with individual scenarios is also out of the question, but I can't seem to find a common system behind it all, human morality is simply too complex a matter for that, even when discounting the variances between individuals, and therefore letting the Machine teach itself through observation without establishing some sort of baseline first could be potentially disastrous.”

When no reply was forthcoming, Harold turned around to find his old friend staring at him in wondrous surprise.

“You still have that thing?” Nathan made a vague gesture towards Harold's torso.

Looking down himself, he found that instead of the usual sportswear, he wore the shirt Nathan had gifted him in their second year at MIT. Its red was even more faded, the fabric itself soft and thin, in some places downright flimsy after all those years of use, the writing had begun to peel off but was still readable. It was still a bit loose but with the weight he'd gained over the decades, it had lost its almost dress-like quality.

Harold smiled teasingly. “Of course. It would make little sense to throw it out now that it finally fits me.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow.

“Almost fits me.” Harold amended.

* * *

 

When he woke up, it was to the sight of John's salt-and-pepper hair, its messy state most likely a result of the previous night's... activities, rather than caused by plain sleep. John's face was tucked in the groove between his neck and collarbone, against which he could feel every warm, damp puff of breath, his head pillowed on Harold's shoulder and an arm slung tightly around his middle. Harold smiled at the peaceful, domestic picture they must make, a smile that widened and was joined by the heat of a blush rising to his cheeks when he spotted the love bites he had left so enthusiastically on John's neck and upper back.

Harold spent the next few minutes watching him, cataloguing by sight – at least in the area his near-sightedness let him observe without the aid of his glasses - the shapes of scars and birthmarks he had explored by touch and taste mere hours ago, observing the way the morning light filtering through the window caught in the greying strands of John's hair, how the shadows emphasised the dips of his spine and lean musculature.

It didn't take long until there was a brief hitch in his new lover's breath, followed by his breathing evening out even more than would be normal for sleep. When after a short while longer, John still obviously had no intention of giving up his pretence in the immediate future, Harold pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and moved to sit up. Predictably, John's arm tightened even further around him and his sleepy voice mumbled something unintelligible into his throat.

Chuckling softly at the other's admittedly quite endearing antics, he kissed his hairline again. “I am perfectly aware that you're awake, John.”

Grey-blue eyes framed by impossibly long lashes blinked open, sparkling with mirth and affection, while the man they belonged to still made no move to remove the arm around Harold's middle. “Mornin' Harold.”

“Good morning, my dear.” They kissed chastely. “Now, if you'd be so kind as to let me up?”

His lover smirked and tilted his head as if he were seriously considering Harold's question. “Five more minutes?”

Harold couldn't help but huff in amusement when he saw John fluttering his eyelashes for emphasis, alternately casting unfairly long shadows over his sharp cheekbones and showing the blue of his eyes radiating almost unnaturally in the morning light. John was unbearably beautiful in his playful happiness. For no reason other than because he now finally could, was now allowed and even welcome to, Harold pressed his lips to John's, then to his temple.

“However tempting that idea is, I'm afraid we really should...” The moan forcing itself out his throat interrupted him as John licked and then gently nibbled at that one particularly sensitive spot just underneath his jaw he'd discovered early on yesterday evening.

“Yes, Harold?” The question was punctuated with a teasing nip to his earlobe. “We should what?”

He levelled his lover with a playfully reprimanding glare, but as he opened his mouth to complete his sentence, John obviously preferred to take that as an invitation for a deeper kiss, morning breath be damned. Harold didn't have it in him to complain, not when John's tongue teased his so deliciously and his thick hair was so irresistibly tempting to bury his hands in.

Once the kiss ended, it took a few seconds for his higher cognitive functions to come back online, and judging by John's smug smirk, he was well aware of it. When the operative moved in again, Harold stopped him with a gentle finger against his lips. Obviously, there was no choice but to resort to bribery.

“If you'd deign to stop distracting me, however lovely these distraction may be, I might be persuaded to let you join me in the shower.” He watched John's pupils dilate and gave him a quick, teasing peck. “Just for the sake of efficiency, of course. And _after_ you've made us breakfast.”

His lover pouted for a second, but a raised eyebrow was all it took to make him roll to the side and and rise elegantly, letting the bedding fall where it may, shameless in his nudity. It would have taken a stronger man than Harold Finch to not grab his glasses to be able to better enjoy that display of lean muscle and controlled power, wrapped in faintly bronzed skin decorated with battlescars and love-bites. Harold unconsciously licked his lips and wished for a glass of water for his suddenly rather dry mouth.

“There are some spare clothes for you in the bottom right drawer.” he forced out distractedly, noting with exasperation that his voice came out an octave lower than usual.

John half-turned to grin at him and all his truly impressive physique stood no chance compared to the loving warmth in his soulful eyes and the happiness in his smile.

“Been planning last night for a while, have you, Finch?”

He smiled self-depreciatingly. “Truth to be told, the types of scenarios I actually planned for were of much less pleasant nature, although for the sake of honesty I won't deny that I may have allowed my imagination free reign on some occasions.”

There was no mistaking the hunger and delight in John's gaze now, flooding Harold with confounded but pleased surprise. It would take some time for him to become used to John's genuine desire for him, to the thought that his long-hidden attraction was undeniably not one-sided.

“You're complaining about me distracting you and then you go and put images like that in my head...” His grin turned downright lewd as he sunk slowly to his kneed to reach for the drawer. “How about you tell me yours and I tell you mine? I can even start, there were a few things involving a shower...”

“Tempting.” The smile he couldn't keep off his lips belied his dry tone. “But _after breakfast_. And the sooner we eat, the more time we will have left for _things involving a shower_. The Machine waits for no man, Mr Reese.”

“All work and no play makes Johnny a dull boy, Harold.”

Harold always dreaded the moment of first getting up in the morning, especially after a more... active day, but he was pleasantly surprised to find his muscles looser than most mornings. The addition of another body's heat throughout the night must have done him good. Yet of course the alleviated physical discomfort did little for that caused by the sight of his mangled scars – even after John had spent long minutes lavishing every last one with soft kisses – and he was glad for the forethought to always keep his robe within reach of the bed. The carpet was soft and cool against his feet, tickling pleasantly as he walked over to where his lover stood to wrap his arms around from behind.

“I do believe last night involved plenty of play.” he murmured into his ear, enjoying the feeling of the shiver that ran through the larger body. “And I promise time for even more, my dear, but for now please do get dressed. You are terribly distracting.”

He loosened his hold so there was no need to break it when John turned around to capture his lips once more in a sweet kiss, the soft fabric of a T-shirt pressed between them. Soft and worn and a faded red he hadn't looked at since he had stashed it deep in the back of the bottom drawer when he had moved here after the ferry bombing. He was barely aware of reaching for it, taking it from John's hands with the reverent gentleness one handled items of great sentimental value with. His fingers traced the cracked writing, the dots, the places where it had been worn down to the point is was nearly falling apart, finding them all blindly.

“Harold?” John questioned him softly, pulling him from his thoughts.

He looked up with a smile, knowing that the earlier playfulness had given way to melancholia. “Nathan gave this to me for my birthday in our second year at MIT.”

John gave him an understanding nod. “Sorry. I'll put it back.”

“No!” He reached out before the other could even take a step back, pressing the shirt into his hand, prompting a questioning look. “It's... He forgot to buy me a present, so he painted one of his shirts. I actually wouldn't even have noticed if he hadn't given me anything, I was still unaccustomed to living under an alias at that time and had forgotten my new birthday myself. Anyway, it was always too big on me, but it should fit you quite well.”

John unfolded it with careful, deliberate movements and huffed a quiet laugh once he'd deciphered the faded writing. “Nathan must've had a pretty great sense of humour.”

Taking the shirt back from him, Harold found himself chuckling as immediately several memories of Nathan's pranks surfaced, wistful fondness for his late friend outweighing the sharp grief and self-recrimination for the first time. “Yes. Yes he did.”

Following through on the decision he had made when he'd stopped John from putting the shirt away, he lifted it over John's head, feeling the way the former soldier froze and the way his incredulous gaze searched his eyes. He smiled in response, smoothing the worn cloth out over John's torso, feeling his comforting body heat underneath his palms, studying how the faded red contrasted with John's beautiful eyes.

“He would have liked you.” And Nathan would have. His best friend had had the same kind of warm, selfless heart, the same inherent, unshakeable goodness and kindness, the urge to protect and care for anyone who might need it as John. And he would have liked him for how happy he made Harold.

His voice was shaking just slightly, but he paid it no mind as he pressed on. “I used to wear it all the time in college and later as well, in my free time. Many of my happiest memories are connected to this old thing. I haven't worn it since before he died, I couldn't even bear to look at it after. It only ever reminded me of something I'd lost because for so long I felt as if it would be impossible for me to ever be that happy again.” It took all his considerable power of will to look up and into John's eyes to make sure that he would catch Harold's full meaning. “I really suits you.”

And John did understand, he could see it in the overwhelmed gaze, in the joy warring with uncertainty and insecurity, in the desperate way John was searching for confirmation in Harold's own gaze. He could hear it in the way John's voice shook even more than his own had.

“ _Harold..._ ”

They hadn't said it out loud yet, those three words, even though it had been implied in every look, every kiss and caress, every playful word and every hitched breath and gasp of a kind of pleasure something purely physical would never elicit. It was still too early, still too fresh and overwhelming a thing to touch for now, but someday soon they'd both speak the words.

For now, Harold settled one hand over John's heart, feeling the softness of the shirt and the rapid heartbeat in tune with his own, and cupped his face with the other, pulling him close and pouring all his reassurance, all his _love_ into the kiss before breaking it and whispering against his lips:

“ _Always, John._ ”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing this, and comments are the air I breathe!!! :)


End file.
